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As the brother righted himself, Phury fell into a fighting stance and shook out his knuckles. In another second and a half, they were going to be locked in a vicious bodily argument, fists instead of nasty words being traded back and forth until one or both of them collapsed.

And exactly where the hell was that going to get them?

Phury slowly lowered his arms.

At that moment, Fritz’s Mercedes came through the courtyard’s gates.

In its headlights, Zsadist rearranged his jacket and calmly walked over to the driver’s-side door of the Escalade. “If it weren’t for what I just promised Cormia, I’d bust your mouth open.”

“What?”

“Get in the fucking car.”

“What did you say to her?”

As Z got behind the wheel, his black eyes cut through the night like knives. “Your girlfriend is worried about you, so she made me promise I’d take care of you. And unlike some people, I keep my word.”

Ouch.

"Now get in.” Z slammed the SUV’s door shut.

Phury cursed and went over to the passenger side while the Merc came to a halt and Qhuinn got out of the backseat. The kid’s eyes went saucer as he looked up at the mansion.

Clearly he was here for his trial, Phury thought as he slid into shotgun next to his deathly silent twin.

“You know where Lash’s parents’ house is, right?” Phury said.

“Of course I do.”

The shut up went unsaid.

As the Escalade headed for the gates, the wizard’s voice was dead serious as it banged around in Phury’s head: You have to be a hero to earn gratitude, and you are not one of the knight-in-shining-armor types. You just want to be.

Phury looked out the window, the angry words he and Z had just exchanged echoing like gunshots in an alley.

Do them all a favor and walk away, the wizard said. Just walk away, mate.

You want to be a hero? Make it so they don’t have to deal with you ever again.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Qhuinn was absolutely sure his nuts were on Wrath’s menu tonight, but even so, he was amazed at the sight of the Brotherhood’s training center. The thing was the size of a small city, made up of blocks of stone that were big as a male’s torso, with windows that looked like they were reinforced with titanium or some shit. The gargoyles around the roof and all the shadows were perfect. Exactly what you’d expect.

“Sire?” the butler said as he indicated the cathedral-worthy front door. “Shall we go in? I must needs get to my cooking.”

“Cooking?”

The doggen slowed his speech down as if he were addressing a moron. “I cook for the Brotherhood as well as tend to this, their home.”

Holy shit . . .This wasn’t the training center; this was the Brotherhood’s digs.

Well, duh. Check out the security. There were cameras mounted over the doors and under the roof, and the retaining wall of the courtyard was like something out of a movie about Alcatraz. Hell, he expected a fleet of Dobermans to come trucking around the corner with their chompers showing.

Then again, the dogs were probably still gnawing on the bones of the last guest they’d turned into pulled pork.

“Sire?” the butler repeated. “Shall we?”

“Yeah . . . yeah, sure.” Qhuinn swallowed hard and walked forward, prepared to face the music with the king. “Ah, listen, I’m just going to leave my stuff in the car.”

“As you wish, sire.”

Man, thank God Blay didn’t have to see what was about to go down—

One side of the mammoth double doors opened and a familiar friend lifted a hand.

Oh. Great. Blay would miss the show, but John was having a front-row seat, evidently.

The guy was dressed in the blue jeans and one of the deconstructed button-downs they’d gotten at Abercrombie. His bare feet were pale on the black stone stairs, and he seemed relatively calm, which was kind of irritating. The bastard could at least have had the grace to sport a cold sweat or a case of the sympathy shits.

Hey, John signed.

“Hey.”

John stepped back, clearing the way. How are you doing?

“I wish I were a smoker.” Because then he could put this off for the duration of a cig.

No, you don’t. You hate smoking.

“When I face the firing squad, I may rethink that hard line.”

Shut